


Even Rome fell (—and you weren't much of an Empire at all)

by w_hope



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: ADULT!Cursed!Arcobaleno, Adult Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arcobaleno Curse (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), BAMF Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark Arcobaleno, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt No Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Immortal Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Minor Revenge Plot, Minor or Background Arcobaleno & Byakuran, Nonbinary Mammon | Viper, Not Beta Read, POV Third Person, Parallel Universes, Ten Years Later, Time Loop, but it's as close as i could get, except for byakuran trying to take over the world of course, ish, minor character study, that doesn't relate to each other at all, the relationship tag isn't really accurate, we're just in a different parallel world each chapter, well it won't be for all the chapter anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w_hope/pseuds/w_hope
Summary: When Icarus flew too close to the sun, the gods burnt his wings and let him fall to his death.When the worlds need Seven sacrifices to keep turning each generation, Kawahira curses the Seven monsters who'd burn it all to the ground on a whim.(And monsters know no kings nor gods; and know leashes strong enough to hold them down only as long as they allow them to.)In at least eight different parallel worlds, Byakuran learns this knowledge the hard way.
Relationships: Arcobaleno & Arcobaleno (Kateyou Hitman Reborn!)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70





	1. blood for blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has no king nor sky (but the crown on the king's head is one he acknowledges, and the sky he shines in is his).

Tsuna dies.  
  
Sawada Tsunayoshi dies at only twenty-four— _already_ twenty-four—, overlooking the world he didn't get to build the foundations of fully before someone tried to destroy it.  
  
Dying for it.  
  
Dying _because_ of it.  
  
The world stills in horror as the bullet goes through his forehead, as it should.  
  
The world blazes in wrath as his body falls face down on the table, the Storm and the Rain and the Sun baring their teeth that could not become bloodstained soon enough—that will _never_ be bloodstained enough—, as he deserves.  
  
How much more magnificent Vongola Decimo could have become. First Sawada Tsunayoshi to No-Good Tsuna to Sawada Tsunayoshi again—  
  
—to Neo Vongola Primo, The Civilian turned Don, The Monsters' King.  
  
The Sky to All.  
  
Reborn's Flame bullet burns through Millefiore's Lightning barrier but doesn't lethally wound their Sun.  
  
He did give him a split-second window.  
  
Tsuna asked him to stand by prior to the meeting, and he's not Reborn's king nor Sky, but Reborn acknowledges the crown on his head and blazes proudly in his Sky all the same.  
  
He brushes blood tainted hair out of unseeing eyes, strokes his still warm skin along his jawline.  
  
Tsuna’s blood spills onto the white napkin, stains the old wood underneath. It’s said Primo himself sat at this very table time and time again, winning over enemies who never became his enemies again.  
  
The shadows of his Flame signature at the bottom of the truce treaty dance on his face, the last of his Sky flames that’ll ever be felt in the world.  
  
Sawada Tsunayoshi dies, and it’s one thing Reborn could have accepted—but would have punished nonetheless—, as it’s only the way of their world.  
  
But Sawada Tsunayoshi dies in front of him, _as he stood watch_ , and it’s another matter entirely.  
  
Reborn closes the eyes of his naive student, whispers in his ear words meant for him only to hear.  
  
He does not hide from the fact Tsuna doesn’t— _can’t_ —hear them.

* * *

Irie Shoichi, the Millefiore’s Sun, Byakuran’s Right-hand Man, stains Reborn’s favorite armchair with his blood. He’s not tied to it, and has not been hurt yet by him beyond the bullet wound from before.  
  
Sweat runs down his face, struggled and haggard breathing fogs his glasses, the red spot on his chest only gaining more ground on his white uniform.  
  
Reborn’s Sun flames destroyed his left lung entirely, that much he knows. His Sun flames still wreaks havoc in his body, and he does not attenuate the pain even at the risk of him dying before he speaks.  
  
Irie’s Mare Ring breaks as his flames strain to keep him alive. Reborn’s heart flutters, his blood lust slipping from his grasp into the air.  
  
Worthy Millefiore’s preys wait for him to hunt them.

They better be worthy anyway, Reborn can drawn out the death of weaklings only for so long.  
  
“Sawada Tsunayoshi isn’t really dead,” Irie says.  
  
“What does it matter?”  
  
What a curious thing to confess first in his situation. People truly forgot who Reborn is, didn’t they?

For one of his to be killed under his nose like that, one he proclaimed his loud and clear for all to hear, all to _see_ …

They must have.  
  
As Tsuna reshaped the mafia for the better Reborn did shrink his playground, stood by his side and killed along his wishes. Perhaps they grew foolish enough to believe him with the type of loyalties that’d make him play by the rules.  
  
Really, you slow down killing people for a bit and people don’t remember to be terrified of you anymore; to cower enough not to come for what is yours.  
  
Let alone _succeed_.  
  
Reborn is always up for a challenge however, and never knew to do anything better than earning the fear put on his name. Besides, he misses the stark splatters of red on his black suits.  
  
Irie speaks, says it all, and Reborn leaves him unhurt. Tsuna wouldn’t want him to die, but wouldn’t particularly care if he lives, and he leaves him dying too.  
  


* * *

Byakuran wakes up in the middle of the night with Reborn’s eyes on him.  
  
Reborn sits at the foot of the bed, his fedora on the bedside table. He doesn’t hold his gun in his hand, he doesn’t speak.  
  
His eyes glow golden. The air shimmers because of the heat of his flames, the blanket smoking and burning under his touch.  
  
Byakuran doesn’t alert anyone. He doesn’t allow his flames the slightest ripple, let alone to light his ring.  
  
He sits, a smile on his lips, deceptively casual, and maybe genuinely non-threatened. Reborn purses his lips, any interest dying in him.

Quite the bold and interesting moves came from this delusional boy.  
  
Pity he crossed the line of Reborn’s very own unforgiving reality.  
  
“Good evening to you Reborn-kun. How was your day?”  
  
Reborn smiles, sweet and friendly, tilting his head. Byakuran’s smile strains, because it’s a game Reborn is much better at than him.  
  
“Quite eventful actually, thank you for asking. How was your night?”  
  
“Really good. I slept like a baby.” Byakuran’s smile shows teeth, and Reborn chuckles.  
  
He stands, and Sky flames ripple, Sky flames coil under Byakuran’s skin, shine in his eyes.  
  
Sun flames take over the room, heavy and steady in the air, tighten around Byakuran like a rope around his neck.  
  
Byakuran stops smiling.  
  
“Should I tell you a story to put you back to sleep then?”

A boy is thrown in a world out to get him, and he grows fangs and claws of his own, rips it apart and put it back together in the way it entertains him most.  
  
A boy makes his way to the top of a bloody world, and learns nothing will ever be given to him, but everything he takes could always be taken back.  
  
He resolves to dig his claws deep, deep, _deep_ into what is his, even if it means twisting their core into something they would have never become otherwise, even if it means they’re his but he’d never be theirs.  
  
Blood for blood is the words their world built around, and oh, blood is such a good color on this man, but it never is as beautiful as when it shines the color of retribution.  
  
And _oh_ , no one does retribution like the man, not when you bleed him dry and he bleeds you an ocean.  
  
Byakuran hears none of those words.  
  
Reborn’s hand crushes his neck, and his gun presses against his forehead. Byakuran releases his flames in a powerful burst, and his ring along with the bed and Reborn ablaze.  
  
“I would have been happy to watch you play from the side lines until the very end,” Reborn says even as he burns, but no, he doesn’t, his pacifier glowing, and golden lines shining under his skin, and Sun flames licking his body faster than Sky flames can burn it. “But you broke one of my rules.”  
  
Reborn settles on Byakuran’s lap as his legs flail, crushes his vocal cords so he doesn’t get loud. He burns the hands gripping his face, and they fall limp at Byakuran’s side.  
  
“You came for one of mine,” Reborn explains with a casual confidence, the way he’d say the sky is blue and water is wet. “So now I come for all you ever were.”  
  
He pulls the trigger, and the gun shot tears loudly through the silence of the night.  
  
Reborn stands, spares a mourning thought for his suit. As expected he doesn’t find anything black in Byakuran’s closet, but it will have to do. He comes out of the room as the Millefiore’s headquarters buzz with life, men and women rounding the corners.  
  
He walks out of once more quiet headquarters at dawn, and stark splatters of red on white isn’t as pretty, but surely red could take over entirely on the white.  
  
Reborn grins, and gets in his car humming, licking the blood at the corner of his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so maybe this read too much as self important and trying too hard to be badass and purple prose-y but you know what? I'm not sorry about it. This is going to be 100% self indulgent and I'm gonna love every second of it.
> 
> Did Irie died? Your call lol.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Any and all review are appreciated. Thank you for reading!
> 
> \--- w_h


	2. a life for a life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's a Rain and a Mist and a Cloud, and what kind of new god would warrant her wrath?

Colonnello dies.  
  
He took the hit for Viper, and didn’t stand back up. Would never stand back up.  
  
How typical of him. Lal never did train the self-sacrifice out of him, never tried to.  
  
She wasn’t about to tell him what he should die for.  
  
Still, Lal can bear the world taking him away from her only so many times.  
  
She puts down the report, the papers crumpled where she’s been holding them, the words screaming on a loop in her mind all the same.  
  
She packs her things quickly. They gave up any and all of their safe houses after the attack on CEDEF’s headquarters, and don’t settle at any of the makeshift headquarters they come across.  
  
Iemitsu slams his hands on the table. His chair clatters on the floor as he stands. “You can’t leave us now!” His lips twitch, and he speaks in an even tone then, smooths the anger out of his face. “I understand and respect your loss, but you leaving us now will make us more vulnerable. The only way to end this war as quickly as possible is to do it together.”  
  
Lal stares him down even as they’re eye level. What is this man supposed to mean to her again?  
  
Does he mean anything?  
  
“Lal.”  
  
Lal takes back her step forward. The light of her pacifier dims, but keeps the blue hue at its center.  
  
Iemitsu exhales, slow and deep. His body does not relax, his spine straight and his shoulders squared. The high amount of Sky flames shining behind his eyes doesn't lessen, even after Lal looks away.  
  
Basil stands at the doorway, unhurt from his patrol, so tall she needs to crane her neck to look him in the eye.

The men in Lal’s life are always so tall, she’d turn this fact into a metaphor of their relationship if she was in the mood for it.  
  
She’s not in the mood for it, nor for any of the people in her life being at risk a second more.  
  
Basil bows. “I’m sorry for your loss.”  
  
“Then stay alive until I come back.”  
  
“Yes ma’am.”  
  
Basil doesn’t salute as she walks past him, and she misses the boy who did. She misses all the boys and girls she saw grow—she helped them grow herself.  
  
Why would she ever let them believe she could stand forever between them and the world, unyielding and undefeated? How foolish of her.  
  
Maybe if she didn’t Colonnello would have remembered he was about to leave her behind; would have remembered Lal never stood stronger in front of them than when he stood by her side.  
  
She walks past Basil and he leans in the touch as she pinches his cheek, squeezes her hand as it falls from his face.  
  
“What are you going to do?”  
  
Lal’s heart settles for the first time since Oregano gave her the report because _that_ she knows. “End a war.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Lal empties her bag on the snow then throws it aside. The broken pieces of both Ginger Bread entangle with each other, no head worth picking up the rest of for one, and only half a head for the other.  
  
Her flames burn hot under her skin to keep her warm, and she breathes deeply the cold air of the mountain.  
  
The Anti Tri-ni-sette Radiation heavy in the air.  
  
It would have made her laugh at any other time, the thought of Byakuran patting himself on the back, believing _this_ was what would bring them down.  
  
Pushing her body through a forced paralysis, through an unbearable amount of pain…  
  
Well, unbearable is a big word, as she stands tall and steady, the same way she stood tall and steady in front of Ginger Bread when her pacifier glowed blue, and her scars grew along her face.  
  
Doesn’t Byakuran know the toll of the pacifier around their neck, corrupted or not— _especially_ a corrupted one? Doesn’t he know of the type of life she lives?  
  
Doesn’t he know who she is?  
  
Not a chance that was what did it for any of them.  
  
The air wraps on itself, and the Vindice appears out of the swirling black hole.  
  
“Lal Mirch,” the smallest one greets her, Vindice’s Founder, Vindice’s Fearest, or so the stories say. “The Failed Arcobaleno. What do you want from us?”  
  
Lal doesn’t look down at Ginger Bread in between them. “I want the real thing. Whoever is the owner of these, take a step forward. Or watch me tear through all of you.”  
  
Vindice floats up in the air until he’s eye to eye with her. “How presumptuous of you, threatening us in front of our home.”  
  
“I’m on a tight schedule, Vindice. Whoever is the owner of these dolls, _take a step forward_.”  
  
No one moves. Lal takes off her cape, rolls her shoulders once, flexes her fingers.  
  
The Anti Tri-ni-sette Radiation makes the use of their flames more difficult for them, Lal will give Byakuran that. But Lal is a soldier first and foremost, was a soldier first before learning of colored supernatural flames she could rely on.  
  
Lal’s body is her most lethal weapon, and so of course only few lived to tell the tale.  
  
The snow melts around her feet, melts to Ginger Bread’s pieces to vindices’ feet, melts, melts, _evaporates_ as her flames burn through the air.  
  
Vindice gives a sign she doesn’t bother to catch, and one of his men steps forward.  
  
“Do you feel pain?” she asks him, looking him up and down.  
  
Vindice makes a disdainful noise, his chains hitting the floor. “Just the same as you.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
He does feel pain, Lal confirms for herself. And he screams and he bleeds and he fears. And he begs for his life.  
  
He knows how to die too, Lal is almost disappointed to confirm when she twists her knife in his heart and watches the light in his eyes dies.  
  
She throws the pieces of his body on top of his dolls, and walks away without looking back.  
  
Lal Mirch, the Failed Arcobaleno indeed, but surely if there’s ever a next time they’ll know better than not to remember all her other titles.  
  


* * *

  
  
Lal steps into Byakuran’s headquarters, her pacifier shining a fierce sky blue color, with indigo Mist and purple Cloud undertones, their darker colors visible at the center of the pacifier.  
  
Her scars eat at her body down her neck to her shoulders, already met at the center of her face like a mask made of her own flesh.  
  
“Stand up.”  
  
Byakuran chuckles around whatever is in his mouth. “Of course, of course, where are my manners?”  
  
Lal examines the bare room, the floor to ceiling windows from one end of the wall to the other, the couch and the low table as the room’s only furniture.  
  
Good. She’s not there to play, never was the type to play with her opponents anyway, not unlike one hitman she knows—she knew.  
  
Either way, the boy was indulged long enough in his games.  
  
He whistles. “I see you’ve been busy lately, and quite merciless too. What earns me this visit? Colonnello-kun? Viper-kun?” Lal’s wave of Rain flames slams against Sky flames. She ignites them and Sky flames burn orange too, Byakuran’s marshmallow’s bag turning to ash under the heat of his flames. “Both then.”  
  
“Keep their names out of your mouth.”  
  
“And here I thought you lot could barely bear each other.”  
  
“You don’t know anything about us.” She flicks her eyes to the door, but this boy is too full of himself to let anyone intervene. He doesn’t underestimate her nevertheless, doesn’t think he is anyway.  
  
“Don’t I? Don’t I know you, Lal Mirch?” He walks to her, his Sky flames burning him a path through her flames. Lal holds back her eye roll. “The former, youngest, and strongest ace COMSUBIN ever had. The Sea Storm of the battlefields. Death’s Reaper.”  
  
“And yet you went for him.”  
  
Byakuran smiles, stops a few feet from her. “I was waiting for you. I have no interest in your pacifier—though I just might be reconsidering that seeing you now—” he chuckles, and the urge to snap his neck curls her fingers “—but I knew you’d come.”  
  
“ _And yet you went for him_.”  
  
Lal lunges forward. Her Cloud flames enhanced fist hits his face, and it’s the best she felt since that day even as his flames burn her skin.  
  
She takes hits too, one in the face that smashes her visor, another one in the guts that sends her flying in the wall. Two hits oddly well-timed and insightful.  
  
Lal falls on all fours, purses her lips at the thought of Colonnello losing because of something like Byakuran knowing somehow all his moves. It isn’t going to help him now.  
  
She flares her flames, blue and indigo and purple shrouding her figure, the floor caving under her. She propels herself on her hands and feet and body slams Byakuran through the windows.  
  
Zamza wraps himself around them both to keep him close, keeping his box animal at bay. Byakuran sprouts wings and she tears them apart, burning them as well every time she crushes them in her fists.  
  
She kicks him away before the impact, Zamza wrapping himself around her to cushion her fall. Lal rolls to her feet, dodging the white dragon. Zamza twists around him, tighten until he stops struggling.  
  
Byakuran laughs, loud and hysteric, black wings sprouting from his bloody back. Lal mists herself in front of him, and knocks him back down to the floor.  
  
She hovers above him, her feet on both sides of his body. Zamza skewers him to the floor through both his arms and legs.  
  
Byakuran grunts, twisting and struggling. He doesn’t look so dignified anymore, dirty and bloody and at her mercy. He doesn’t look as self-assured either, his face deformed with anger and efforts.  
  
He still looks too much alive for her tastes.  
  
Lal falls on her knees, straddling him. She ignores the scorch of black flames against her skin. She coats her hands with Rain flames, and digs her nails into his shoulder blades.  
  
Cloud flames replace Rain flames, and they _burn_ , _burn_ , _**burn**_. Byakuran’s screams put her heart at peace for the first time since that day.  
  
She burns through the black wings, then calls upon her Rain flames again, spreads them over Byakuran’s whole body. It’s not the painless death he deserves, but he lived long enough.  
  
Byakuran goes limp, lifeless, and at last her heart mourns.  
  
Lal stands, steps back from his body. She coughs blood, the burn of the Curse and the Anti Tri-ni-sette Radiation and her wounds one and a same pain.  
  
She wipes the blood at the corner of her lips, but only smears more it around her mouth. She wipes away her tears, and smears blood on her cheeks.  
  
Now Colonnello can rest, and not one more of her people will be taken away from her. Not because of Byakuran at the very least.  
  
Lal looks down at him, and even as she cries and hurts she’ll be able to put herself back together now. A life for a life—and she’d say she learned it from the military or the mafia, but it’s simply the only way she ever knew how to grief.  
  
A life for a life, but in the end it always only means more death, it won’t give her back who she lost.  
  
Lal looks up at the Millefiore’s men and women at the edge of the crater, surrounding her from all sides. She rolls her shoulders once, flexes her fingers.  
  
Death’s Reaper. A life for a life, but maybe—just maybe—if she reaps many more than one, death will do her this one favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lal was introduced to us as this badass, hardened fighter, but then just got this one fight with Ginger Bread? Not on my watch ma'am.
> 
> Which I apparently mean more than I thought because I did not intent to write her fight with Byakuran, but then Feral!Lal just fucking took over it and I love that for her.<3
> 
> (I didn't intent to write any actual fight scenes actually, because how do you even write those lol, but for my first ever written fight scene I'm really happy with how it came out!)
> 
> Also love the totally unplanned and unexpected Basil & Lal that invited itself. Maybe I have something interesting there?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Any and all review are appreciated. Thank you for reading!
> 
> \--- w_h


	3. a grave for a graveyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuran awakes The Beast, and is powerless when he tears him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does these titles even make sense? Because they're supposed to lol.

Kyoya dies.  
  
Millefiore surrounds the Vongola headquarters, but Sawada Tsunayoshi doesn’t surrender. He doesn’t try for negotiations, doesn’t ask for a ceasefire.  
  
Sawada Tsunayoshi tears through Millefiore’s forces, breaks down their siege in a blaze of Sky flames. His Guardians stand right by his side, burn strong as their Sky, destroy everything in their path dutiful as their Sky.  
  
That’s how the world learns one of Vongola Decimo’s has fallen. That’s how they know it’s not anybody, but one of _His_.  
  
Vongola Decimo lost his Cloud.  
  
The tides of the war change as the mafia all over the world rides on Vongola Decimo’s flames, fights back against Millefiore with their Dying Will the strongest it had ever been.  
  
It was about time, really. Since centuries the mafia kills each other, and they never needed powerful rings nor boxes to do it successfully.  
  
Fon walks the street of Namimori, unbothered by the looks he gets, understanding of them.  
  
The city stands, hurt by the invasion, grief and wariness heavy in the air, but it stands. The renovations begun already, children walks the street off to school and the adults off to work, neighbors chat with each other from their front yard as they retrieve their mail.  
  
Not only the city stands but it _lives_ , it doesn’t fear. _Refuses_ to fear.  
  
Fon walks past the gates of Namimori Middle School along its student, some of them sporting fresh deep wounds, but none of them as bad as the Disciplinary Committee members keeping watch.  
  
He walks past cut down or blown up trees, their remnants scattered everywhere on school ground. The air ticks off his senses, saturated with hostile Dying Will Flames, and among them Kyoya’s, his Cloud flames overwhelming.  
  
They taste like merciless Will, upcoming carnage—and something softer too if no less fierce, which Kyoya never liked to hear.  
  
Fon stops at the edge of the wide crater, at equal distance from the building and the gates. Many students do the same in respect, and many more go down the crater to lay their flowers on top of the fresh, bright, colorful ones that are already there.  
  
They surround a symbolic grave, nothing more but a cross planted in the ground. A torn apart jacket covers it, only the left sleeve whole along with the red armband around it.  
  
The tonfas and bullet crisscrossed emblem on it doesn’t have a scratch.  
  
Kyoya stood where the grave stands. And he stood, and stood, and fought back, and didn’t back down an inch.  
  
He didn’t go down. Not until the last of his enemies fell dead at his feet first, not until he secured his territory, his flames in a constant rise, and his relentless attacks never faltering.  
  
Kyoya went down in a blaze of glory like they all knew he would, died protecting his city as its citizens died protecting him.  
  
Did he know? This stubborn boy, always too unbothered—too embarrassed—to acknowledge properly the feelings people had for him.  
  
Did he know in their time of need Namimori citizens came together to protect each other, to protect _him?_ Took part in a war they knew nothing about and had no chance to make it out of alive on his behalf?  
  
Behind the crater the school building stands, whole and barely damaged. Fon’s heart swells with pride (—and he swallows the lump in his throat for the boy he didn’t see grow into this admirable man.)  
  
He splays out his hand against the ground, a firm, genuine smile on his face.  
  
First the pride, the respect, the celebration.  
  
Then the rage, the retribution, the storm brewing inside him.  
  
And only then the grief, the sorrow, the guilt.  
  
(Doesn’t Fon ever learn? He cannot protect from afar, _how many more times_ —)  
  
Fon releases Storm flames through the crater, restless and hungry. It’s no flowers he plans to pick-up in honor of Kyoya’s death.

* * *

“No. No, I’m coming. You have to wait for me Master. I want to fight too.”  
  
“I-Pin-chan—”

“ _No_ Master, they _killed_ Kyoya-nii!” A loud breaking noise rings through the phone, like glass shattering. “I want to fight for him too, I want to fight, I want to fight!” He hears heaved breath, then silence, then choked back sobs.  
  
“I-Pin-chan,” Fon calls out again, his voice firm but soft. “I heard things got busy in Italy too, yes? You keep fighting for him there, and I’ll take care of things here. You know I will.”  
  
I-Pin sobs, then sniffles, then there’s silence again. “Yes Master.”  
  
Fon breathes deeply, releases his phone from his crushing grip. Hibird nuzzles his neck, and he scratches his head smiling.  
  
Hibird chirps painfully, flying away from him, a burned spot on his yellow feathers. Fon smiles strains. He curls his hand into a fist, and wills his flames back under his control just for a bit more.  
  
“I’m sorry my friend, but perhaps it’d be better if you keep your distance for now.”  
  
Fon jumps from the roof to the floor, and goes down the empty Namimori Underground Shopping Mall parking lot. Distinct sounds of explosions shake the ground as Kyoya’s men do their part.  
  
There'll be no rats scurrying away from a sinking ship, not from those exits, and least of all from this one.  
  
The first wave of Millefiore pours out in the parking lot and Fon lets go of his flames. They ignite in a tornado around him, then implode in a powerful wave that destroys everything in its path.  
  
They flare high and wide around him to protect him from the rubble falling from above, the sun and the wind welcomed on his skin through now the gaping hole above them.  
  
The sky is clear and blue, but a storm is about to break out all the same.  
  
A slight shift of his body, a change of his Will and his flames coil at his feet, fall back to better lunge forwards again.  
  
They spread like a bullet— _faster_ than a bullet—at ground level, eating at the rubble and the very dust, eating at clothes and flesh and bones faster than anyone can scream.  
  
The silence falls on a thoroughly cleared out battlefield, the one before the storm, heavy and brimming and hanging by a thread.  
  
Millefiore spreads out on both sides of him behind their Lightning barriers and Lightning boxes. Bars propagate above their heads, taking away the last of the rats’ way out.  
  
Fon lets them surround him. He takes up his stance, his mind serene, a light but powerful layer of the purest Storm flames in the world around his body.  
  
“Come.”  
  
He doesn’t move from his spot. He doesn’t budge an inch as they attack him wave after wave, end up dead at his feet every time.  
  
He’s still a blur they can’t graze let alone hurt, his flames disintegrating theirs and their weapons and boxes. His hits never miss, flesh sinking into flesh and the last choked grunts of life rhyming the battle.  
  
It’s unfortunate, and a bit unfair perhaps when these men will be mourned the way he mourns Kyoya. War is war and comes with its lot of victims, and not everyone can afford to make it personal.  
  
Fon can, and will, and always did, and always will be willing to. It wasn’t kind of him to let the world believe he wouldn’t be.  
  
He won’t be kind now (—not when he has so little left to lose, when his Elements are so few and could become less, when I-Pin takes part in a war she might not outlive while being so young still).  
  
He won’t be kind ever again.

* * *

Byakuran jumps down into the parking lot, his Storm and Cloud hot on his heels. They land on the ashes of their men, and it crunches under their feet.  
  
Byakuran smiles. “Quite the welcome you prepared for me, Fon-kun. I’m honored.”  
  
Fon doesn’t smile back, doesn’t stand from where he’s sat cross-legged. He purses his lips.

For a boy like him to back the world into a corner, to back _them_ into a corner, the Strongest in the World…  
  
They got too comfortable in their strength, didn’t they?  
  
“Now be reasonable and surrender. It’d be a shame if anything more happened to your nephew’s beloved city now, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“This _is_ Kyoya’s territory. His people aren’t that weak, and they have a debt to repay.”  
  
“They can try.”

Byakuran’s smile falls from his face, his eyes fully open. He’s tense, impatient, his flames fidgety.  
  
Does he only now realize his war was never the game he thought it was? A war doesn’t discriminate against anyone, not even the one who started it?  
  
Perhaps he came in the hope of an easy win to boost his troupes' morale. His mistake.  
  
Fon _was_ waiting for him, but he’ll be no easy win. He’ll be no win at all.  
  
He stands, subtly stretching and flexing his muscles. “Yes, they can try. Let’s see how many of them you can take down before I’m done with you all. Assuming you take down anyone to begin with.”  
  
“Now stop right there, who do you think you’re talking to?” Byakuran's Storm lights his ring, a sneer on his face. He steps up. “Byakuran-sama, let me take care of him.”  
  
Kyoya wouldn’t have been happy to see them using Namimori as teir battlefield, but a city can always be rebuild. Byakuran spilled the blood of its citizens. It’s only natural he repays them in kind with his own blood.  
  
Fon grins, all teeth and no warmth, licks the blood-lust from his lip. His Storm flames lashes out like an explosion, shake and turn the ground. It caves under their weight, the pressure of his flames like the sky weighing on their shoulders.  
  
His pacifier glows, its light paling compared to the bright, burning red of the flames around his fists. They look blood red under the cloudy sky, the clouds a deep gray and gorged with rain.  
  
Now of course a Storm is no Cloud, but more importantly here, a Cloud is no Storm.

Least of all _Fon’s_ Storm.  
  
Byakuran’s Storm goes down.  
  
Fon digs his nails into his flesh, rips off his skin and burns it into his fists. He pierces his Dying Will box right out of his chest with his bare hand, throws his body aside to be consumed in his flames.  
  
Byakuran’s Cloud goes down.  
  
His flames don’t propagate his velociraptors faster than Storm flames disintegrate them, don’t propagate his cells fast enough Fon doesn’t burn his body to nothingness.  
  
Byakuran _suffers_.  
  
He throws his white dragon at him and Fon laughs at his face, a bark like sound, a growl. Fon tattooed a dragon on his skin, wrestled the dragon that are his flames until he has them wrapped around his finger.  
  
He’s The Beast, _The_ Storm, and not one Byakuran can wrestle with.  
  
Fon throws him around through walls and buildings. He rams him into the ground, tears apart his wings bits by bits until there’re no more, burns through the black ones, and Byakuran doesn’t even get to fly off at all.  
  
Fon hits where it hurts but doesn’t kill, not right away. The bones break under his blows, the blood evaporates as it spurts out under his flames, the useless struggle in Byakuran’s eyes grows desperate—  
  
It rears something uglier inside him, and he almost wishes Byakuran was a real god he wouldn’t break so soon.  
  
Fon holds him in the air by his throat. He hangs from his hand limp and broken like a rag doll, barely recognizable through his wounds, but alive—he made sure of that.  
  
He smiles, something only slightly less inhumane than before, or entirely monstrous. “Do not worry about your ambitions, your men, or anything you hold dear you’ll leave behind.” He ignites his flames, and they swallow Byakuran’s body whole. “I’ll take care of them all too.”  
  
Kyoya never left anything unfinished, no Hibari ever does. And Fon—  
  
Fon is as Hibari as they come, as they ever came, as they ever will come again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see your "Namimori is begrudgingly under Hibari's control (because what else choice do they have lol)", and I raise you "Namimori citizens are fiercely loyal to Hibari and the legacy he left behind (and still meddles with much too often for his grown ass lol), and _would_ stand with him in a war)".
> 
> Also fun fact, I had this urge to make Fon shirtless for the final battle but I couldn't come up with a reason _why_ he'd be shirtless lmao.  
> Edit: I was informed there's no way Fon's shirt would have survived his flames anyway, but thankfully I didn't mention it at all, and therefore pronounce Fon as actually shirtless during the final battle.
> 
> But on to the real questions. _Who_ should I kill for Verde??? His chapter won't come out just yet, but like, he isn't shown to give any shit about anyone???
> 
> I ultimately thought of Reborn, which I guess I could make somehow his death meaningful if not personal (even if I have no clue how as of yet lol). Or Mukuro/Kokuyo gang, but they wouldn't have met in this verse. Though I guess I could also try to come up with something to make it impactful (even if I have even less clue how I'd do that lmao.)
> 
> Also I ended up writing 400ish (platonic) 1827 words while writing this, that I cut because it's not about them asdfgh. You can read them [here](https://hopeswriting.tumblr.com/post/635799714317631488/byakuran-awakes-the-beast-and-is-powerless-when) if you want!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Any and all review are appreciated. Thank you for reading!
> 
> \--- w_h


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